With Roman blood was darkly dyed.
The morn rose bright—and heard the cry
Sent by exulting hosts on high,
And saw the white-cross banner float
(While rung each clansman’s gathering-note)
O’er the dark plumes and serried spears
Of Scotland’s daring mountaineers;
As, all elate with hope, they stood,
To buy their freedom with their blood.
The sunset shone—to guide the flying,